


For What Ails You

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana hates being sick. Luckily (or unluckily), her team hasn't forgotten her.</p><p>Set in season four, sometime after "Honor Among Thieves."</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frith_in_thorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/gifts).



Diana hated being sick. She realized that was a stupid statement, because nobody liked being sick, but Diana had a special loathing for it. It wasn’t so much the symptoms--though she wasn’t enjoying the chills, aches, and hacking cough--as it was feeling useless. Her limbs were heavy, and she felt too tired to think straight.

 

The rest of the team would be taking down Jordan Fortier today. Fortier had been a run of mill snake-oil salesman until he had moved from to fraud, to intimidation, and then to murder. Diana had busted her ass on the case, and she had been really looking forward to slapping cuffs on the bastard herself. Now it was all going to happen without her.

 

Diana had called Peter that morning to try to convince him that she was well enough to at least sit in the van. Considering she had been unable to actually drag herself to the office to make her case in person, she hadn’t been very convincing. 

 

Diana reached for another tissue and looked morosely at the empty glass of water on her bedside table. She had gotten used to having to having someone around to look after her when she wasn’t feeling well. True, Christie had tended to lecture her about taking better care of herself--that was what came of having a doctor for a girlfriend--but she had taken care of Diana when she could, and left plenty of medicine and a hot cup of tea when she had to leave for work. Now there was no one, and Diana had to decide whether it was worth it to get out of bed and making her way to the sink for more water. Was she that thirsty?

 

There was a knock at the door. Diana groaned and buried her head in her pillow. Forget it; no way was she getting up to answer the door. Whoever it was could come back when she wasn’t half-dead. Whoever it was knocked a few more times before stopping. 

 

Just when Diana thought she might get some peace, she heard the door begin to open. Her heart raced. _Shit._ Her service weapon was locked up. She’s never get to it in time in her condition. She was forming an unlikely plan to break the water glass and defend herself with shards, when she heard a familiar voice. “Diana? If you’re here, please don’t shoot me.”

 

“Caffrey?” What was he doing here, and why the _hell_ had he broken into her apartment? He stepped in, and as soon as he came into view, Diana lobbed a pillow at his head, which unfortunately missed. Damn, she really was sick. She considered following the pillow with the water glass, but had to admit she didn’t actually want to give him a face full of broken glass, even if he clearly deserved it. “You have ten seconds to explain what you’re doing here, and why you broke into my apartment.”

 

“Peter told me you were sick, so I came over to see if you needed anything.”

 

Diana wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, so she decided to stick with being angry. “And why did this require breaking in?”

 

“You weren’t answering the door. Peter said you sounded really bad on the phone. For all I knew, you were unconscious on the floor.”

 

He sounded sincere, but of course Neal never sounded more sincere than when he was lying. “Way to be paranoid, Caffrey.” 

 

Neal shrugged. “Bad things happen to people.” And he was smiling, but there was something brittle to it.

 

Dammit. Diana sat up slightly. “All right, fine. But _don’t_ do it again. Ever. I will shoot you. And then move to an apartment outside your radius.”

 

Neal’s smile became more real. “Fair enough.” He laughed. “It’s a bad habit of mine, apparently. Sara nearly shot me when I was accidentally sort of hired to kill her.”

 

“Sara’s a smart woman, though not smart enough to follow through.”

 

The look Neal gave her was far too wounded and put upon to be real. “Because you’re sick, I’m going to let that go.” He noticed the empty water glass. ‘“Can I get you anything? Some tea?”

 

“I don’t have any tea.”

 

“I do.” Diana followed Neal’s gaze and for the first time noticed a grocery bag sitting in front of the door. Neal continued. “There’s also ginger ale, Thera-Flu, and homemade soup.”

 

“I’m sick of chicken soup.”

 

“I thought you might be. It’s cream of mushroom.”

 

Diana paused. Her pride was telling her to thank Neal, but explain that she didn’t need him hovering over her, and he could leave now. However, every other part of her was desperate for something to drink. “Tea would be nice,” she said. “And some more water.” 

 

“At your service.” Warily, Diana watched as Neal first refilled her glass, then searched until he found the tea kettle. “Darjeeling all right?”

 

“Sure.” Diana searched her brain for any ulterior motives Caffrey might have in coming over. She didn’t have any music boxes or manifests lying around. The maddening thing about Neal was that it was possible he was doing this for no other reason than to be nice to her. She remembered the dinner he had cooked for her during the Selena Thomas case, or his sincere offer to talk in the final days of her relationship with Christie. Playing the “real or fake” game with Neal was exhausting, especially since Diana wasn’t sure that even Neal always knew. 

 

Neal handed her a glass of water, and she took it. She wasn’t up for playing for games right now, and if Neal wanted to help, she’d take him up on it. And if she woke up tomorrow to find all her silver gone, she’d deal with that then. 

 

Diana closed her eyes, not quite asleep and not quite awake, only becoming alert when Neal asked her how she took her tea. “Black, no sugar,” she replied.

 

He gave a small laugh. “Of course.” He set a mug down beside her. 

 

Diana noticed he was holding a mug of his own. “Made yourself at home?” She was a little surprised. She had assumed he would be in and out, but he appeared to planning to stay a while.

 

“If you need anything, just ask,” he said.

 

Huh. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work? You know, that place we both go?”

 

He grinned. “Peter’s heading the Fortier takedown today. They don’t need me for that.” Diana grimaced at the mention of Fortier. Neal noticed and gave her a sympathetic look. “Peter told me to thank you for all the work you did on the case.”

 

“I don’t want thanks, I want to be there.” Great, now she sounded whiny. Diana decided to change the subject. “So, are you just going to hang out here all day?”

 

Neal shrugged. “For a while, anyway, if you don’t mind.”

 

Diana really should have minded. The last thing she needed was Neal underfoot while she felt like death warmed over. But the tea was hot and strong, and the idea of not having to get her own water and tissues was strongly appealing. “You can stay,” she finally said. “But stay where I can keep an eye on you.”

 

“Your suspicion is noted,” Neal teased.

 

“And fully justified,” Diana parried. 

 

“Touché.” Neal pulled a book out of the bag he had brought and sat down. Diana felt that she really should stay awake to watch him, but her bed was so warm and she was so tired that sleep soon became irresistible. 

 

When she awoke, Neal was sitting in the same chair, still reading, but Diana knew better than to think that meant anything. “Finished rifling through my drawers, Caffrey?” she asked, her voice rough.

 

He looked up. “Yeah. It got boring after a while. You need to start keeping contraband in your desk, make it more interesting for thieves.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Feeling any better?” Neal asked her.

 

“A little. I’m kind of hungry. You said there was soup?”

 

“Yeah. You want me to heat it up?”

 

“Please.” Neal microwaved a bowl for her and got out a tray so she could eat in bed. From the easy way he found the bowls and the trays, Diana suspected he hadn’t been entirely joking when he admitted to going through her drawers. She couldn’t quite get angry though. She was the one who let Neal Caffrey into her home and then fallen asleep. Fish would swim, birds would fly, and Neal would invade people’s privacy. 

 

The soup was good, flavorful, but not too strongly spiced. Diana would have expected nothing less from Neal. Thief, con artist, and gourmet chef. 

 

When she was finished, Neal cleaned up the dishes, and refilled her water glass. “Hey, Caffrey,” she said. He looked at her. “I really am feeling a little better. You can take off.”

 

He nodded. “Sure. I’ll leave everything here. Soup’s in the fridge, various medicines on the counter.” He took one long look at her, as if trying to determine whether she was as improved as she claimed. “Call me if you need anything.”

 

“I will,” Diana said, and found that she meant it.

 

Neal exited with a little wave and locked the door behind him. Diana shifted in bed and turned on the TV. Most of it was daytime dreck, but she thought she might be able to find a movie. The phone rang, and Diana saw Peter’s name on the caller ID. “Hi, boss.”

 

“Hey, Diana. How are you feeling?”

 

“A bit better. Neal came over.”

 

“He said he would. I hope he didn’t drive you crazy.”

 

“No, actually,” Diana admitted. “It was nice.” She could tell Peter that. He wouldn’t tell anyone else. “How did the takedown go?”

 

“Would have gone better with you there, but we got him.”

 

Diana grinned. “Excellent. I think I’ll be good to come in tomorrow.”

 

“Only if you’re sure you’re up for it,” Peter said sternly. “I’ll order you to go back home if I have to.”

 

“All right, all right. You and Caffrey are a couple of mother hens.”

 

“Did you just compare me to Neal?”

 

“If the shoe fits, boss. Not my fault.”

 

“Your fever must be worse than I thought. You’re delirious.” Diana laughed. Unfortunately, it turned into a cough. “You need to rest,” Peter said, suddenly concerned. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

 

“No, I’m glad you called,” Diana insisted. “But I’ll get back to bed if it will make you feel better.” She muttered “mother hen” under her breath, which triggered an, “I heard that” from Peter.

 

After she and Peter had hung up, Diana turned the volume on the TV back up, and settled in to watch some terrible movie on the Scifi channel. 

 

She still hated being sick. She still hated the lethargy and weakness. And she still wished she could have been with the rest of the team today. But it was easier if she didn’t have to do it alone. 

 

The movie was as terrible as she had assumed it would be, but she didn’t care. She was thinking about ways to pay Neal back that wouldn’t embarrass either of them. Maybe she’d get Peter involved. 

 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being sick. Just maybe. Just this once.


End file.
